


Rules

by winwinism



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Car Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winwinism/pseuds/winwinism
Summary: Sicheng picks him up in his cherry red Lamborghini, because he doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	Rules

Sicheng picks him up in his cherry red Lamborghini, because he doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body. There are some other bones in there that Ten likes, so he goes along with it. He wears the amethyst stud earrings Sicheng got for him. They clash with his outfit, but Sicheng’s jaw goes all tight when he sees them, head tipping back slightly to regard him. Sicheng isn’t very fashionable, anyway. He just likes pretty things. 

Ten slips in passenger side and drums his fingers on the coal-black leather. “Aren’t you worried about being seen?”

“By who?” Sicheng wonders. His eyes slide back to the road ahead, fingers flexing on the wheel. Ten barely has time to buckle before the car rumbles to life and leaps away from the curve. He smirks to himself, albeit a little nervously. There’s no way Sicheng is a good enough driver for this kind of car. 

Sicheng keeps the top down, so the drive is breezy. Ten pries off his wire frame glasses--no lenses--and pockets them before they fly away. Sicheng doesn’t speak as he brings them from blocks full of brutalist apartments to the recreational district, past little green squares of park and beaches and sea spray. Ten spectates the bikini-clad beachgoers with chin in hand, half in longing, but Sicheng doesn’t pay them any mind. He keeps going, past restaurants that might’ve been up to his standard. He flicks through the radio for a bit, then settles on some bassy rap shit that he probably thinks is cool, or might actually like. The whole car vibrates with it. 

“Where are we going?” Ten asks, a little belatedly. They’re ripping down a minor highway bordered by the sea on one side and a row of scraggly trees on the other, and going at least five kilometers over the speed limit. 

Instead of answering this completely reasonable question, Sicheng takes the opportunity to say, “Dad’s thinking about hiring you. Full time.”

Ten sucks his teeth, though it’s lost in the wind and the music. “Don’t talk about your dad now.” 

“Are you gonna take it?”

“You answer first.”

Sicheng glances over at him, just once, but long enough to imbue Ten with fear for his life. _Keep your eyes on the road, asshole_. “Somewhere quiet. Are you?”

“Depends. How are the benefits?”

“There’s a gym,” says Sicheng, who’s probably never given a thought to benefits in his life. “A pool, too. Cafeteria’s organic.”

Ten’s mouth pulls up at the corner as he regards Sicheng’s profile. There’s a serious set to his brow, black hair overdue for a cut whipping against his face. Oh, he’s steering one-handed now. They’re screwed. “You make a hard sell, Sicheng,” he says. “I heard my boss was gonna be some weird, lanky kid, though. Obviously nepotism. Terrible lay.”

“And that’s why you shouldn’t take it,” Sicheng murmurs just loud enough to be heard. Ten rolls his eyes.

“You’re pretty self-involved, Sicheng, have I ever told you that?”

“A couple times.” The radio goes to commercials, and he switches it off. The wind and the waves and the car’s animal-like purr seem to grow louder in its absence. “I still want you, though.”

Ten swallows. Sometimes, he wishes he Sicheng could be subtle. Would spare him from moments like this. “Congratulations. Get in line.”

“You do, too,” says Sicheng. He’s never batted an eye over Instagram followers or any of that reply-guy, desperate ex bullshit, never even registered them as competition, likely because he’s never been told _no_ in his life. Worst part, obviously, is that he’s right. “Come on,” he drawls, voice almost bedroom, “you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He thinks he does. But he’ll play coy. Or catty. Whichever gets the better reaction. “You think I’d choose mediocre dick over a job?” 

Sicheng doesn’t so much as roll his eyes. “I can help you out. Set you up wherever.” 

“You’d buy me out, then?” That brings a discontented twitch to Sicheng’s lips. “What makes you think I want to be bought?”

Sicheng’s too polite to say it. The fancy cologne Ten wears to his internship. The iPhone he carries in his back pocket, the latest model, shipped the day after he told Sicheng his old one had a cracked screen. All the little things Ten never asked for, but has allowed nonetheless. “Not buying,” Sicheng says. “Helping.” 

“Either way,” Ten says, really settling into his part for all that he can’t make up his mind--can’t even seem to think beyond the latest twitch of Sicheng’s perfect mouth--“the transactional element is there.”

“And you oppose that.” 

“I kind of do, yeah.” Ten folds an arm behind his head and crosses his legs, arranging himself casually across his seat. Daring Sicheng to take the bait. He bites his lip and waits.

“Everything is transactional,” Sicheng says blandly, which is so unexpected it makes Ten laugh out loud. He steals a quick glance at Ten at the sound, his expression so obviously earnest that Ten laughs again. 

“Right,” Ten says through an irrepressible smirk, “because we live in a capitalist hellscape.”

Sicheng’s brow furrows momentarily. “What I mean is--all relationships have some form of mutual exchange.” 

“Not the kind you’re talking about.”

Sicheng’s knuckles tighten around the wheel. He’s two-handing it again, which gives Ten an iota of relief. “It’s what I have to offer.” 

Ten’s smirk disappears, banished again by the sincerity in Sicheng’s tone. It makes his heart thud oddly, urging him to worm his way out of the situation, to play it off with irreverence. Resisting this, he says, “I won’t be your dependent.” Some moral part of him compels saying it. 

“The offer isn’t conditional.”

Ten raises an eyebrow. “Easy to say now.”

“Then say no.” And with a grumbly undertone, Sicheng adds, “I can’t pretend I don’t care, but the choice is yours.” 

Ten lets the words hang between them unanswered. He senses car start to decelerate, as if nearing Sicheng’s destination. The trees on both sides of the highway grow thicker, obscuring the ocean from view. 

A muddled feeling wells in him with each passing moment. Ten chews the inside of his cheek, until he can’t take it anymore and blurts: “Don’t put the onus on me, you fuck. We both have skin in this game.” The car slows further and veers onto an oceanside exit; Ten’s gut swoops with the modest change of direction, feeling as though he clings to a precipice. “I need to know what I’m--what I’d hypothetically be agreeing to. In explicit terms.” 

Ahead, the trees part around the entrance to a small, shaded parking lot, a strip of sand and the vast ocean beyond. As they turn into the lot, a beach house with an extensive porch and short boardwalk emerges into view. Ten’s mouth falls open. 

Sicheng parks facing the beach. As the engine dies, so does some of the latent tension screwing up Ten’s shoulders. It’s late afternoon, dusk still a ways off, but the sun hangs low on the horizon, dappling the waves with orange. 

“You’re right,” Sicheng says. Ten blinks, quickly retraces the thread of their conversation. “I don’t know either.” 

The rhythmic crash of waves and squawks of gulls are all that follow. The utter inadequacy of the answer stuns Ten into further silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Sicheng adds. 

Ten purses his lips, then decides to unbuckle and stretch out his legs on the dashboard. “Alright. Where are we?”

“Private beach,” Sicheng supplies. “My family’s. It’s ours for a kilometer in either direction.”

Ten suppresses his initial reaction of shock--one he shouldn’t have, given all the other bullshit the Dong family owns (a private chopper among them, if the rumors are to be believed). “Lovely.”

“You think so?” Ten finds Sicheng’s stare more guarded, perhaps, than it had been. “Want to go inside?”

“I--” Ten clamps his mouth shut, finding his snappy reply has dissipated as quickly as he thought of it. Sicheng’s expression shifts; he tilts his head back, runs a hand through his thoroughly wind-mussed hair. And it’s that gesture that brings Ten fully into his own body, into hyper-awareness of every nerve ending and cramped limb. There’s a blush of awkwardness, but with each second that Sicheng stares him down, the feeling transforms into something absurd and daring. 

The sun is warm on Ten’s face, the breeze salted and fresh. Going inside strikes him as almost profane.

“No, not right now,” Ten says mildly. Breaking eye contact, he traces a finger along the seam of his seat. “Is that what you want?”

“No.” 

Ten’s lips curve. He looks up, meets Sicheng’s unwavering gaze. Like an afterthought, Sicheng lets his hand slip free of the wheel to rest on a splayed thigh; Ten traces the movement, then lingers over the rest of Sicheng’s relaxed figure. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, the top three buttons undone, but the CEO’s brat doesn’t have much in the way of beef to show off. He’s more model-pretty than hunk, still bearing traces of youth. 

And doesn’t Ten like that.

“There’s no one in that house, right?” 

Sicheng shakes his head. The corner of his mouth starts to pull up, like he can guess at whatever horndog bullshit Ten’s thinking. Ten almost changes his mind just to spite him. _No, fuck that_. 

Ten climbs across his seat into Sicheng’s without invitation, knowing the way Sicheng looks at him is as good as--or the fact that Sicheng drove him here, that he texted him in the first place. A hint of that old startled-deer look flashes across Sicheng’s face as Ten settles into his lap, ass pressed up against the wheel and a palm flat across Sicheng’s exposed triangle of chest, curling into the collar of his shirt. With this, Ten drags Sicheng’s mouth up to his and kisses him. 

Ten’s smirk melts on contact, on feeling Sicheng’s tongue hot against his own; and Sicheng adapts quickly, winding an arm around Ten’s waist and pulling him down, closer, gripping the bulk of his thigh with the other. Ten hums his approval, grinds down to encourage him, and is answered with a soft moan of Sicheng’s own. He hisses a curse across Ten’s lips before reclaiming them; and Ten would’ve startled, to feel Sicheng’s half-hard cock swelling under pressure, if he hadn’t already banged him a hundred times in the past six months. Ten breaks the kiss with a manic grin, forcing eye contact with their foreheads knocked together. 

“How long?” Ten says, trying for playful rather than mocking. Not like Ten has a problem with it. 

Sicheng snorts quietly. “When did I text you?”

“Wow,” Ten utters, rocking down on Sicheng’s lap as much as he’s able in the cramped space. “That why you wanted to see me so bad?”

“Not in that order. Wanted to see you first.”

“Which got you horny.” Sicheng hums a confirmation, fingers tightening where he holds onto Ten. “Very noble.” 

“Thanks,” Sicheng mutters, and Ten breaths out a laugh as he kisses him again. The spicy scent of his cologne, half-whisked away by the wind, still intoxicates. Ten inhales sharply and arches into him, molding their bodies together, their earlier discussion all but forgotten. 

Sicheng shifts to pepper kisses along Ten’s jaw and throat, biting at his pulse point to make him shiver. At Ten’s sigh of appreciation, he pauses and looks up through his lashes--cow-eyed bastard. 

“What?” Ten breathes, fists tightening on Sicheng’s shoulders. 

Sicheng licks his lips, and says, “We can still go inside.”

Ten snorts. “Too nice out.”

“It’ll be more comfortable.”

“For what?” Ten raises an eyebrow, and smacks the driver’s seat headrest. “Don’t want to fuck me on your nice leather seats?”

Sicheng rolls his eyes, but a tremor runs through him, his cock hardening further beneath Ten’s ass. Ecstatic, Ten puts on a pout and bounces slightly, just enough to put an image in Sicheng’s head. Heat coils in his own abdomen at the movement, at the feeling of Sicheng’s waiting member. He’s aching for it. It’s been--fuck, more than a week. An eternity. 

“Don’t wanna break your back,” Sicheng mumbles out. 

“But I love that.” Ten wriggles further back on Sicheng’s lap, pressing up against the wheel, and starts undoing the buttons of his own shirt. Sicheng’s eyes fall heavy on his hands as he works, discarding the garment to expose his sleeveless undershirt. He takes his time with this one, pressing it up his abdomen so the fabric bunches up under his fingers, exposing the bare skin of his stomach and chest inch by inch, pausing to rub over his nipples so gratuitously he could blush. The sun is hot on his back when he pulls the shirt off; Ten supposes he’s lucky he tans well. When Sicheng’s hands go to his waist, the warmth feels like a second caress. 

Perhaps distracted, Sicheng doesn’t protest as Ten starts unbuttoning his shirt as well. He slides his hands up Ten’s back, admiring the contours of his body as if mapping them out for the first time. Always so thoughtful. 

“Off,” Ten commands as he finishes, and Sicheng looks up with a start; then, making his decision, quickly shoulders the shirt off and discards it in the backseat. They meet each other halfway, melding their torsos together. Ten thrills at Sicheng’s newfound desperation, the way he bites off kiss after kiss like a man starved. Sweat trickles slowly down the divot of his spine; a thin layer slicks the places where they meet. “ _Fuck_.”

He braces a palm on Sicheng’s shoulder, shifts back as he starts to fiddle one-handed with his belt; but Sicheng pursues him, cradling the back of Ten’s neck, breath coming harsh through his nose. Ten laughs lowly, breaking the kiss to nose at Sicheng’s cheek.

“You’re crazy, honey,” he says, and sits back more properly to pull his belt free. Sicheng’s eyes sweep down his body, jaw hardening. 

“You look--”

Ten bites back his smile and meets Sicheng’s gaze. “How do I look?” 

Ordinary, he knows, as he sits with his fingers idling over his zipper. Maybe they should’ve headed inside--but Sicheng’s impossibly hot under the glow of the sun, with a thin sheen of sweat softening the marble edges of his body. Ten thinks he could get off just looking and be satisfied. He doesn’t feel ordinary.

_Like I’m ready to get fucked_.

“Good,” Sicheng supplies. Ten stares back dumbly, until Sicheng takes hold of Ten’s thighs and hoists him off his lap. Ten gets the message just short of being thrown into the passenger seat and slides back into it with a grin. 

Like this, Ten wriggles out of his pants without difficulty, Sicheng following suit--his boxers are blue, soaked darker around the head of his erection. Ten moans softly with want; his mouth waters, only partially from literal thirst. He draws his legs up around him, beckoning Sicheng’s attention. “Want my mouth on you?”

Sicheng’s jaw clicks. “Not now.” He rakes his gaze over Ten’s figure, and adds, “Lube’s in the glove compartment.”

Ten finds it among messily folded maps and an old travel guide, the plastic warm in his hands. He sits up on his knees, facing Sicheng, and works his boxers down his thighs until his own erection bobs free. He thumbs the wetness at the tip, denying himself the kind of touch he wants, and smirks at Sicheng’s rapt attention. 

“I fucked myself last night, you know,” Ten says. He clicks open the lube and pours some of the warm, thinned-out liquid on his fingers. “Wished it was you.”

When reaches back and he slips two fingers inside, the stretch is easy--courtesy of his favorite dildo. He fucks down on them a little, splaying his thighs, putting on a bit of a show. He imagines he’s dripping lube onto the leather, but nothing in Sicheng’s expression shows he cares. 

After a minute, he fits in another finger, biting his lip like it’s hard. Sicheng’s fists curl into the leather; then, on a rough inhale, he pulls out his cock and wraps a loose fist around it, stroking himself with eyes locked on Ten’s form. Ten’s groin pulses with heat at the sight--white blobs of precum spill into Sicheng’s fist, slicking him up from purpled tip down the ribbons of veins. He’s so pretty, so fat and ready. Ten licks his lips, feeling vacuous, hopelessly empty. He wonders how quickly they’d crash if he tried to give Sicheng road head. 

Ten withdraws his fingers, wiping them thoughtlessly on the edge of the seat--oops--and lurches forward, belatedly pulling his boxers free before straddling Sicheng again. He holds the lube aloft and drizzles it onto Sicheng’s exposed cock, rivulets of it hitting his stomach and trickling down his balls. Sicheng grips the base as Ten positions himself above it, sweetly looping his arms around Sicheng’s neck as he takes hold of Ten’s torso. Their eyes lock.

“Just good?” Ten prods. Sicheng’s throat works, like he’s just as parched. 

“Perfect,” he says. And Ten sits on him, letting the blunt head of Sicheng’s cock circle his hole for a tantalizing moment before he splits himself open. 

Ten’s mind swims as he adjusts, pain bleeding into a bone-deep pleasure as he grinds down on Sicheng’s lap, starting to fuck himself slowly, never letting Sicheng pull out. Sicheng’s chest rises and falls rapidly, sweat gathering as his brow as his member pulses inside Ten, hot like the sun itself. He’s patient, letting Ten take the lead. Ten drives himself up and down, gathering a rhythm, and doesn’t look away. 

Sicheng’s eyes grow hazy; his head thuds back on the seat, and his hips pick up to meet Ten’s hips halfway, slamming his cock inside with force that reverberates up to the base of Ten’s skull, at an angle that rubs the bundle of nerves inside him raw. Ten’s mouth hangs open. He might’ve drooled a little. 

“I’m close,” Sicheng tells him, desperate, and Ten pitches forward to crush their mouths together. Sicheng’s arm tightens around his waist and fits a hand between them to fist Ten’s cock in rhythm with his thrusts, gasping as he tries to stave off his own orgasm. 

“Do it,” Ten huffs back, and Sicheng stiffens under him like all he needed was Ten’s permission. The warmth of Sicheng’s release floods him, stuttering thrusts smearing his insides and spilling out onto their thighs until he stills, chest heaving, and redoubles his attention to Ten’s. 

“So good for me,” Sicheng mumbles into his ear, then mouths at the skin above it. “So good, Ten.” 

Ten cums with his face pressed into Sicheng’s shoulder, a loud _hah_ strung from his lips, painting Sicheng’s glistening chest and clenching around his cock. 

As their breaths slow, Ten becomes aware of the places where the steering wheel dug into the small of his back and all the gross, sticky fluids slicking their bodies. He pulls off, the both of them making faces at the sensation. “Christ.” 

Ten slips gingerly onto the passenger’s seat and lays back, sighing deeply. Stripes of pink have blossomed on the horizon, their color reflected in the undersides of clouds. He has half a mind to whip out his phone for a picture. He glances at Sicheng and finds him already looking back, an odd smile on his face. 

“That good, huh.”

Sicheng humphs and turns his gaze towards the horizon. A strange impulse strikes him, and Ten grabs one of Sicheng’s hands, lacing their fingers together. The warmth of Sicheng’s palm against his soothes some part of him, one he doesn’t care to examine--but perhaps he should. Should’ve months ago.

Ten lets out another sigh without meaning to, and Sicheng squeezes his hand. It feels natural, oddly pure--utterly at odds at what they’ve just done.

“There’s outdoor showers out back,” Sicheng says. Ten sighs again at the idea.

“That sounds fucking fantastic.” On second thought, the idea of sharing a shower with Sicheng also doesn’t sound bad at all. And beyond that, the night stands vacant before them, vast and unknowable as so many oceans. Maybe they can order pizza. 

“Good,” Sicheng says simply. 

“No, perfect.” 

Sicheng gives him a blank look that quickly curves into restrained amusement. “Should I carry you?”

“God, no. Don’t care to break your back.”

Ten dwells silently as Sicheng soaps up his back, his motions more massage than effective cleaning--pointless, anyway, as Ten plans to jump into the ocean the minute they’re out. But far be it from Ten to protest Sicheng feeling him up. 

And the more he dwells, the more a heavy weariness descends over him, the kind of feet-dragging reluctance that accompanies knowing something must be done, but that it will be agonizing and disagreeable. Ten has to remind himself that the problem sums to nothing more than a lack of vulnerability--but that’s hardly so simple as it sounds, is it? None of this is simple.

The lack of a playbook frustrates him the way it shouldn’t at this age. And maybe that should tell himself something--that the stakes are so high his instincts can no longer help him, and that every decision seems impossibly fraught. 

“Sicheng,” Ten starts, still casting around in his thoughts. Then the words spill out before he can stop them: “Do you like me?”

Sicheng’s hands still, thumbs resting on his shoulder blade. In the silence that follows, Ten nearly curses himself. “Uh, yes.” 

And Ten, too, freezes up. His throat tightens; his mind runs through a hundred things he could say or suggest, a hundred deflections. He refuses them, and says instead: “Good, because I like you, too.” 

Sicheng huffs through his nose, and Ten imagines his smile as his hands resume their circular motions, and soap bubbles pool on the wooden slats at their feet. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/winwinism). All comments are read and treasured.


End file.
